


California Sun

by summers-maclay-lehane (ofstormsandwolves)



Series: Ripper and Anne [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Episode: s03e01 Anne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 04:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofstormsandwolves/pseuds/summers-maclay-lehane
Summary: When Ripper drops out of university and runs off to California, he forgets one very important thing- that's the new Slayer's territory. How long can he hide before the Council get wind of his whereabouts? And what will happen when homeless people begin to disappear?





	California Sun

When Ripper stepped out of LAX, the first thing that hit him was the _heat_. He was a bloody idiot. What respectable Englishman would run away to California of all places in May? Well, that was just it, wasn’t it- he _wasn’t_ a respectable Englishman. That’s what his dad said, anyway. And what did he know? Ripper scoffed at the thought. His father had done nothing but follow orders his whole life- he followed the orders of his own father, then his school teachers, then the head of the Watchers Council. And because Ripper would _dare_ ask questions, dare speak his own mind- 

Well. He wasn’t worth the trouble, as certain Council members would say. 

So he had saved his parents the trouble of kicking him out the house, saved dusty old Quentin Travers the trouble of telling him he wouldn’t be accepted to the Watchers academy unless his attitude changed. He had saved his dissertation supervisor the trouble of reminding him he hadn’t shown them even a draft of his final year dissertation, and saved himself the trouble of saying goodbye to everyone. 

Instead, he had run off to London at the beginning of March, and spent several weeks squatting in damp, abandoned warehouses in the east end. He had known that wasn’t a feasible long-term option, though, no matter how much that Ethan Rayne had tried to charm him into staying. When that hadn’t worked, Ethan had worked some magic- quite literally- and obtained Ripper a green card so he could escape to the states. Despite the nagging suspicion that accepting Ethan’s help may one day come back to bite him on the arse, Ripper had taken the opportunity and run. He took a large chunk of cash from his bank account, changed the money into dollars, packed his passport and as many clothes as he could into one large rucksack, snagged his guitar, and jet off to California. 

He hadn’t remembered until about halfway through the flight that the current Watcher and Slayer resided in the very city he was flying towards. His muttered swearing had earned him a few raised eyebrows from other passengers, but he’d paid them no attention. 

And now he was standing outside LAX, squinting in the California sun and trying to get his bearings. He hadn’t thought this far ahead, not really. He still had money in his bank account, and if need be he could access it, providing his father hadn’t already employed the Council to freeze it. While, technically, Ripper wasn’t a member of the Watchers Council, it was apparently in his destiny, and therefore he was as good as employed by them. Ergo, Quentin Travers could have Ripper’s passport confiscated, bank account frozen, and green card revoked with just a snap of his fingers. He doubted even Ethan’s magic could untangle him from that mess.

Of course, given that he wanted to avoid any interactions with the Watchers Council, his biggest priority was keeping away from the Watcher and Slayer. While normally he would assume the Slayer would patrol the darker side of the city- the seedy underbelly the tourist board liked to pretend didn’t exist- Ripper had heard his father talking about the current Slayer a few times during weekends home from university. She’d been the Slayer for nearly eighteen months, and against the wishes of the Council had remained living with her parents and attending school in the city. From what Ripper had heard, she was stubborn, loud, and a stereotypical spoilt Californian girl. She’d even had a stereotypical spoilt Californian girl name- Buffy. He’d smirked at that- Travers’ head must have been spinning the day he found out the new Slayer had more guts than most of the Council put together. She’d refused to leave her parents, her life, or her friends. In the end, the Council had had to concede defeat and allow her to do as she wished. Apparently, her Watcher had instead been put in place at her high school as the librarian. Poor sod.

What that meant for Ripper, however, was that the Slayer had apparently very loudly refused to leave her plush LA life behind, and that meant that she was unlikely to roam the darker side of the city except for slaying. As long as he laid low between dusk and dawn- and didn’t that sound like a bore?- he should avoid both Watcher and Slayer.  


Mind made up, he decided to walk rather than catch a cab- no point wasting money he could use on food and clothing. Unlike the rest of the Watchers Council, Ripper at least knew how to survive in the real world.

* * *

He wound up back in another squat. It wasn’t ideal, and Ripper certainly wasn’t happy about it. Plus, it wasn’t exactly a safe option given the prospect of vampires bursting in in the middle of the night. Ripper made a point of sleeping with a stake beside his makeshift bed just in case. But on the plus side, he’d found a half-decent diner two blocks from the squat, and they were cheap to boot. In fact, he went there most days for dinner.

The diner was almost that stereotypical American diner he’d seen on telly, despite it not being stuck in the 50s. Being in the more unsavoury part of town, Ripper kept himself to himself most of the time so he would avoid any fights. It wasn’t that he couldn’t hold his own, just that it wouldn’t do him much good if he wound up in hospital and somehow his parents got wind of his whereabouts. Besides, everyone in the diner kept themselves to themselves.

“What can I get you?”

Ripper looked up at the unfamiliar voice. He’d been to the same diner every day for nearly two weeks now, and he’d not yet met this waitress. She was blonde and small, and he couldn’t shake a sneaking suspicion she should be in school, not working in a somewhat seedy diner. Her hair was in two little plaits, and her nametag read ‘Anne’.

“Uh, coffee, black,” he said after a long pause. “And a cheese burger and fries.”

Anne nodded, writing down his order without even looking up once. “Pay at the counter,” she told him, clearly not realising he was a regular, and sloped off to hand his order to the cook.

Ripper watched her go, brow furrowed. Kid like that shouldn’t be working in a place like this, he was sure of it. She seemed too young, too vulnerable, too small. Something in the back of Ripper’s mind screamed at him to protect her, to keep her safe. Perhaps teach her some self defence, keep herself safe...

He shook himself. _My god_. Looked like he could run away from his destiny as a Watcher, but some part of him would always operate in that way. _Stupid idiot_. It was the exact thing he was trying to escape- some ridiculous destiny training a young girl to fight for her life until she dies and another girl takes her place. The exact thing he’d turned his back on, had vowed to leave in England-

Suddenly Anne was back with a mug and a coffee pot, and it startled Ripper out of his internal tirade. She poured the coffee, and he watched her carefully. She seemed to feel his gaze on her, because when she’d finished pouring his drink she met his eyes, green on green. There was a long, tense pause as they both stared at one another.

“Thanks,” Ripper said quietly.

Anne seemed to survey him. “You’re welcome.” She turned and left him again, heading back to the counter. 

Another waitress brought his food to him, but Anne watched him the whole time. When Ripper finally left the diner, he felt Anne’s eyes follow him from the building.

* * *

The next day, Ripper had to bite his tongue at the way some of the patrons were treating Anne. Two workmen in grimy clothes came in just after five for a slice of pie each, and Ripper watched with barely-disguised fury at the way they talked about the ‘new girl’s cute ass’. Any idiot could see she was probably barely past sixteen, should likely be in high school rather than waiting tables, but those men didn’t care. 

He knew that Anne had heard the lewd comments, had seen it in the way she had paused, her back to the men even as her head tilted to one side, listening in on them. His father had told him as a young boy that a Watcher must always be attuned to those around them, must always be aware; listening in, watching. Apparently, waitresses in seedy diners needed to do the same.

* * *

The Californian heat seemed to grow inexplicably hotter as May melted into June. The smog of the city left Ripper feeling a little sweaty and grimy, and he had ended up signing up to a questionable gym five blocks over just so he could shower regularly. They also had a pretty good set-up for boxing, which he was considering utilising- he’d always been one for a good fight, and the constant worrying that his parents or the Council would find him set Ripper’s teeth on edge. It would do him good to work off the frustration, as long as he didn’t challenge the wrong person to a sparring session.

He still ate at the diner most days, and he and Anne never spoke much except for when she took his order. Funny that; it was nearly always her taking his order, like she’d planned it that way. At least she never asked him annoying questions about his personal life. Some of the other waitresses had tried to ask about his accent, or his personal life, the first few times he’d come in. Of course, his large rucksack and his guitar case hadn’t helped, and the waitresses had been all flirty looks and fingertips brushing his arm and such. All ‘what _is_ a lovely English gentleman like yourself doing on this side of town?’ and ‘I’ve always loved a man with an English accent’. He’d been polite at first, giving vague one-syllable answers to any questions they asked, and tight smiles at their compliments. But he’d grown frustrated pretty soon- so, really, within half an hour of being in the diner for the first time- and he’d quickly told them to bugger off. After that, none of the waitresses had bothered him.

But Anne was different; their not speaking to one another wasn’t because he’d annoyed her, or she annoyed him. It was because there was a companionable silence between the pair of them; an understanding that neither of them really wanted to talk, and that not talking was ok. He didn’t pry into why such a young girl was working in a seedy diner, and she didn’t ask why a twenty-one year old British guy was in the bad part of Los Angeles on his own. All in all, the arrangement worked well for them.

* * *

It was late one night, nearly closing time, when it happened. It was mid-June, and Ripper had been in the city for six weeks by that point. He had frequented the diner enough to know who the regulars were, and had an eye for spotting trouble. Had he still been in London with Ethan and his gang, it was entirely possible he would have used his eye for trouble to find the best fights, but here in LA that didn’t feel like the right thing to do, not least because it could reveal his whereabouts to the Council.

He headed for the diner on his way back from the gym. The boxing session had done him a world of good, but it had also made him hungry; Ripper had been surviving off one cooked meal at the diner and a few snacks from a nearby store every day. It certainly hadn’t been enough to sustain him after the training he’d just put in, so he vowed to stop by the diner and grab some food before it closed.

The diner was practically empty as he entered, with only a handful of other people inside. There was a man of about forty, and a young couple giggling in the corner over a milkshake like they’d fallen out of a fucking 1950s movie, and Ripper rolled his eyes. By the time he was swinging his rucksack off his shoulder to slide into a booth, Anne was beside him, pencil and notebook at the ready.

“You’re not usually in this late,” she told him, eyes still focused on her pad.

Ripper shrugged. “Just came back from the gym,” he told her. “Fancied a bite. Not all that many places around here I’d trust to not give me food poisoning.”  


Anne’s eyes flickered to meet his, and she gave him a small, wry smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Take it however you want, love,” Ripper sniffed. “Makes no difference to me.” He glanced at the menu. “What pie have you got left?”

“Apple or peach,” Anne responded promptly. “Though I can’t promise there are any actual apples or peaches in them.”

Ripper smirked, and met Anne’s gaze. “Surprise me. I trust your judgement.”

“I wouldn’t,” Anne responded.

Ripper frowned at that. Her tone was light-hearted, but something in her eyes suggested a more serious nature behind the statement. He realised he was staring, as Anne met his gaze unblinkingly. He was the first to look away, silently cursing himself for being intimidated by this little teenager. 

Anne turned on her heel and walked back to the counter.

Another waitress brought Ripper his pie- apple- and he stabbed at it with his fork. _Stupid idiot_, the voice in his head said. There was something going on with Anne, he was almost certain of it. Someone had hurt her in the past, someone who was the reason she dropped out of school and taken this job. It made Ripper’s blood boil. He wanted to-__  


There was the distinct sound of a _slap_. Ripper’s head shot up. It wasn’t a skin-on-skin slap, not the sound of a fight. It was followed by laughter, and an awkward silence, and Ripper looked across the diner to see Anne frozen beside the forty year old. On the other side of the diner, the two giggly teenagers sharing a milkshake had gone silent and wide-eyed.

“What’s wrong, doll?” the forty year old laughed at Anne, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Can’t take a compliment? What’s a guy gotta do to get some service around here?”

And as Ripper watched, the man lifted his hand and made to bring it down on Anne’s backside again. Ripper was on his feet immediately, hardly registering Anne swinging round and grabbing the man’s wrist before he could touch her a second time. Instead, Ripper barrelled into the man and slammed him against the wall.

“Hey!” the man yelled angrily. “What’s your problem, man?”

“_My_ problem?” Ripper sneered, pressing his face as close to the man’s as possible. “My problem is you going around slapping young girls’ arses like you own them!”

But rather than seeming apologetic or embarrassed, the man just laughed. “Didn’t hear her complaining.”

Ripper opened his mouth to say something, but Anne beat him to it. “I think my grabbing your wrist to stop you was enough of a complaint. Or do I have to say it out loud? I _don’t_ want you _touching me_.”

The man sneered. “Don’t forget I pay your tips, girly. A little customer service would go a long way, you know.”

And then Ripper punched him.

Really it wasn’t all that hard- there wasn’t even any blood. Plus, he was fairly certain he’d seen Anne smirking. But he found the manager hauling him and his belongings out of the diner anyway.

* * *

Twenty minutes after Ripper had been thrown out, the diner finally closed and Anne sloped out the door. He’d been waiting just down the street, and he quickly jogged after her, cigarette in his mouth. With a muffled curse, he pulled the half-smoked cigarette from his mouth and shouted:

“Anne!”

He watched as she froze on the sidewalk, and then glanced behind her. _Bugger_. Perhaps chasing her down the dark street not even thirty minutes after a bloke tried to sexually assault her wasn’t the best idea after all. But Ripper had done it now, and he couldn’t go back.

“I just wanted to see if you were alright,” he told her as he came to a stop beside her, guitar case swinging in his left hand, cigarette dangling from the fingers of his right.

Anne looked him over, possibly making sure he wasn’t about to try and abduct her or something, before giving him a small smile. “Thanks,” she said. “But I’m fine. I can handle myself.”

“Sure you can,” Ripper shrugged, bringing his cigarette to his lips as Anne- and himself- started walking. “And considering I got myself banned from that lovely diner of yours for pinning that arse against a wall, you’re gonna have to.” He paused, then said quietly: “Doesn’t mean I wasn’t worried.”

Anne glanced over at him then, a sort of sadness on her face. “You know, I’ve known you for nearly a month and I still don’t know your name.”

Ripper side-eyed her, considering. “My name’s Ripper,” he said after a long pause.

Anne snorted. “Sure it is.”

They walked half a block in silence, Ripper silently wondering whether he should walk Anne home. But then, he supposed, wouldn’t that look creepy? He was definitely worried about her, especially given what he knew about things that went bump in the night, but he himself might come across as terrifying if he pushed her too hard.

“I’ll see you around,” Ripper said gruffly, dropping his cigarette to the sidewalk. Then, without a glance at Anne, he picked up his pace and headed back to the squat.

* * *

Seeing Anne became near-on impossible after that. Hanging around the diner would be creepy, and Ripper was certainly not creepy. He found another diner, where the food didn’t quite make him ill but at least the waitresses didn’t ask awkward questions. He slept in his squat at night, and had only had to slay two vamps since being in LA.  


June faded into July, and July into August, and soon the summer was nearly over. Ripper had heard nothing from England, and while he was glad he had been left alone, he also couldn’t be certain his parents had just given up on finding him. He wasn’t sure what would be worse- thinking he was free only to be found and shipped back to England, or discovering his parents had forgotten all about him.

But he didn’t have time to dwell, because as the summer began drawing to a close, Ripper started to notice something odd. The area of LA he’d been staying in was nothing like the glitzy holiday brochures, or the LA lifestyle boasted about in movies. It was dark, dank, depressing. Streets were lined with the homeless come nightfall, and something tugged at Ripper’s heart at the thought of what an easy meal they made for the vamps. 

But in the last few weeks, he’d passed an increasing number of dishevelled, older homeless people who muttered and stumbled their way around. They talked to themselves about how they were no one, brushed people away without asking for food or money, and according to the television in the little diner Ripper went to, many were showing up dead. He knew that vampires or demons could be responsible- in fact, he felt certain of it. While the LAPD always stated it was natural causes, there was nothing natural about the way the homeless were stumbling around like they were high, or mentally ill, or something. 

There had to be a reason.

* * *

By the end of August, Ripper had had several dead ends. The few homeless people he’d managed to stop hadn’t wanted to talk to him, and those who had been affected by whatever it was causing the problems just couldn’t hold a conversation. He’d heard whispers, though. Whispers that those who disappeared- and those who wandered the streets claiming to be nobody- had been lured away by some religious fanatic promising hot food and a bed for the night. Of course, Ripper had nothing solid to go on, but there was something in his gut that told him it was a lead. Problem was, he couldn’t find anyone willing to give him any more information, point him in the right direction. He was growing frustrated- with the world, with himself, with the Slayer.

She was supposed to live here- it was her job to stop things like this happening. Did she just not care? Ripper remembered what he’d heard; she’d refused to give up her comfy LA life and her family and friends. She was probably some spoilt little rich girl who spent her time giggling about boys at the nearest shopping mall rather than actually helping people.

Honestly, Ripper knew he was being a little harsh- he had been much the same in his teens. He had avoided his destiny ever since he had found out about it, and was still running from it now. His years at private secondary school had been spent smoking behind the bike sheds and annoying his teachers. His good grades alone had got him into Oxford, and then he’d thrown away his degree just to escape being a Watcher. Did he really have any right to criticise the Slayer- who was likely no more than sixteen or seventeen- for doing something similar?

Knowing that the Slayer was young and still learning didn’t help Ripper’s frustrations, however. She was supposed to be looking out for people, and yet she didn’t appear to be doing anything. What the hell was her Watcher playing at? Why was he not directing the Slayer to where she needed to be? Why weren’t the Council doing more to help?  
He was still mulling over the Council’s complete lack of inaction- pompous gits care more about their fancy Watchers retreats than actually saving the world- on his way back from the gym one evening when he had a leaflet thrust under his nose. Ripper scowled, eyes flitting over the words ‘Come home to Family Home!’ before looking up to see the person holding the leaflet.

The man in question was average looking, with dark hair and a smile that- for reasons Ripper couldn’t understand- set him on edge.

“What’s this?” Ripper asked, agitated.

“A leaflet,” the man responded with a smile. “Just take it. No pressure to follow up, I promise. But we’re here to help people like you- you know, people with nobody else to turn to, to look after them.”

Ripper frowned. “I can look after myself, thanks,” he said, but something was starting to make him suspicious. All those young homeless people going missing and this man was trying to round them up with leaflets? Ripper could tell there was more than met the eye with this man, and he was determined to find out what it was.

“Of course you can,” the man nodded, still smiling. “But if you ever change your mind, we’re here to help. Hot food, a warm bed. And we’re not just about feeding the body- we want to help feed the mind. Help you find that part of you that might be missing.”

Maybe this guy was just super religious, but Ripper found that he didn’t like how this man was speaking. It seemed too much like a cult, or some sort of nefarious trap. And given that he was almost certain these disappearances were supernatural, that put this man number one on Ripper’s list of suspects.

“What’s your name?” Ripper asked after a moment. “You know, in case I do decide to stop in.”

The man’s smile widened at that. “I’m Ken,” he told Ripper. “And remember, you can come by any time, day or night. I know you think you’re all grown up, and you’re definitely a little older than some of the kids I’ve had to help, but you get old fast here if you’re not careful. This sort of life, it drains the life out of kids like you. I want to help with that.”

And before Ripper could fully process what Ken had told him, the other man melted away into the shadows.

* * *

Ripper didn’t have much in regards to a plan of attack. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was really facing, beyond a creepy man luring vulnerable kids in before spitting them back out all old and withered.

As a child, Ripper had read a lot, before he had balked at discovering his destiny was to be a Watcher and nothing else. He had stopped reading so much then, as a sign of protest to his parents. But before he had stopped, he had read all manner of books, including ones about demons and Watchers and Slayers. While Ripper knew that there were many demons that fed on the lives and souls of the young, the virginal, the pure, he couldn’t recall any particular demon that would leave their victims aged and senile rather than just killing them.

For the first time since rejecting his calling as a Watcher, Ripper regretted not reading more.

But still he packed up his meagre belongings and set off to the address on the leaflet the following night. The address was reasonably easy to find, and when he knocked on the door he was greeted by a somewhat fierce-looking man who appeared to be more bouncer than kindly citizen looking to help vulnerable kids. Ripper didn’t let it faze him, though, and he was quickly ushered inside when he told them he’d spoken with Ken the previous night.

“You made it!” Ken’s voice was warm and cheerful as he saw Ripper.

“Yeah,” Ripper responded, shifting a little uncomfortably on his feet. Now was the time his scrap of a plan kicked in. “I thought about what you said, last night. And... And I want to be helped. I ran away from home in England, didn’t tell my parents where I was going. I just wanted to get away. They were so controlling, you know? But you said last night that you wanted to help. And I... I want to be helped.”

He fixed Ken with his best wide-eyed expression then, hoping his few years of doing acting as a child would help sell his case. Thankfully, it seemed to work.

“Of course. Come this way, and we’ll get you ready for the cleansing.” Ken held out his arm, gesturing for Ripper to come closer.

Ripper frowned. “Cleansing?”

Ken nodded. “It’s a requirement, I’m afraid. Now, I don’t think I quite caught your name?”

Ripper took an uncertain step forward. Suddenly this didn’t seem such a good idea. How had he got himself embroiled in a cult? He should have stayed with Ethan and the others in London. “Everyone calls me Ripper.”

Ken merely smiled and nodded, leaving Ripper to wonder just what sort of strange religious cult this was that let in people who called themselves ‘Ripper’.

_Perhaps it doesn’t matter_, a little voice in the back of his head said. _They’re only going to turn you into those zombie people who keep dying in the streets. Who cares what you’re called?_

Mentally shaking himself, Ripper followed Ken into a little back room.

* * *

The first thing that struck Ripper was that he appeared to be in Hell. The second thing that struck him was that suddenly the Council headquarters in London seemed a lot less daunting.

He’d done as Ken had said, had changed into the weird robes and followed him to this little pool. And then his hand had been forced into the very-much-not-water liquid and he’d been sucked through to... Well, Hell.

At least, it seemed like Hell.

All around him, people in similar robes in various stages of cleanliness were toiling away as demons oversaw and whipped them. And then, he was hauled to his feet and dragged away to an elevator down to the lower levels. He wasn't the only one, Ripper realised. In fact, he was one of many. And as they were forced into a line-up, two more people were shoved in beside Ripper.

He was fully aware of the club in the demon’s hand, fully aware that they probably didn’t want their prisoners to be looking at each other or striking up conversations. But in his peripheral vision he could see that the young girl beside him- one of the new people pushed into the line- appeared to be in some pain. 

He chanced a glance, just quickly, to the new girl beside him. And he very nearly threw up.

Anne.

Anne from the diner. Anne, who Ripper was almost certain should have been in school rather than work. And her friend, or what little Ripper could see of her, looked to be about the same sort of age.

“You work, and you live,” the red-faced guard told them. “That is all. You do not complain or laugh or do anything besides work. Whatever you thought, whatever you were, does not matter. You are no one now. You mean nothing.”

The guard walked to the end of the line then, glowering at the terrified boy on the end. “Who are you?”

The boy trembled. “Aaron.”

There was a dull _thwack_, and a noise of pain from the boy as the guard brought his club down on him. As the boy dropped to the floor, unconscious, Ripper saw Anne straighten, suddenly appearing confident and determined. The guard moved on to the next person.

“Who are you?”

“No one,” came the frightened voice.

Satisfied, the guard repeated the question to the next person. They have the same response. But as the guard neared Anne, Ripper stiffened. There had to be something he could do. 

“Who are you?”

Ripper couldn’t bear to listen. He couldn’t explain it, beyond the fact he felt protective of the young girl. Like he was supposed to know her. Perhaps he had, in another life. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t help but feel like he should have been doing something- anything- to help her.

Anne levelled her gaze at the guard, and suddenly, all Ripper could do was stare at her, wide-eyed. Her gaze was steely and determined, and something about it made Ripper’s heart leap into his throat. He should intervene- he should take her place. Maybe he could cause a distraction, give her a chance to escape? He hadn’t trained as a Watcher, but he’d learned enough watching his father over the years and he’d been in enough fights at school to know how to hold his own...

Anne smiled. “I’m Buffy. The vampire slayer. And you are?”

And, completely blindsided by the turn of events, Ripper let out a laugh.

* * *

It had turned out Anne- or rather, Buffy- hadn’t been too happy with Ripper laughing at her. But still, they’d managed to rescue all the new recruits from the strange other dimension Ken had tried to trap them in, and Buffy had killed Ken to boot. 

Ripper had gone to change back into his own clothes and collect his belongings, and when he returned he had found Buffy talking to the blonde girl she had been beside in the line-up. Both girls looked up when he approached.

“You’re pretty good at the fighting,” Buffy acknowledged, a little suspiciously. “And you seem to know what a Slayer is.”

Ripper shrugged. “Well so does she,” he responded, nodding to Buffy’s friend.

Buffy and the girl exchanged looks. “This is Lily,” Buffy explained after a moment. “We went to school together. Stuff happened, and she found out I was the Slayer. Then Ken took her boyfriend, and she came to me for help.” She eyed Ripper. “But that still doesn’t explain you.”

Ripper glanced at Lily then, who seemed to take the hint. “I’ll see you around.”

Buffy watched Lily go, before turning to raise an eyebrow at Ripper. He responded by shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Look, I was supposed to train as a Watcher, alright? It’s how I ended up here-”

“They sent you to replace Merrick, didn’t they?” Buffy interrupted a little sadly.

At her words, Ripper frowned, staring at the young girl in confusion.

Buffy, however, didn’t seem to notice. She sighed and folded her arms across her chest as she started to pace. “I suppose it was only a matter of time,” she said, apparently more to herself than Ripper. “I knew they wouldn’t just let me disappear. I mean, ‘chosen one’, ‘destiny’, blah blah blah.” She stopped pacing. “They should have just let me go.”

Ripper blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m only here because I ran away from home. Didn’t even remember you were in Los Angeles until halfway into the flight. I’ve not even been to the academy.”

Buffy frowned as she stared up at him. “So... You’re not my new Watcher?” she asked, confused and a little relieved.

“Not likely. Travers hates my guts, anyway. He’d probably stick me on a desk job or something,” Ripper grumbled. Then he frowned. “What exactly happened to Merrick, Buffy?”

Buffy responded by sitting down heavily on the edge of the reflecting pool. “I got him killed.”

Ripper didn’t know what to say to that. “Right. And how does that lead to you working in that grotty diner? You’re what? Sixteen?”

“Seventeen,” she responded automatically. She raised her eyes to meet Ripper’s. “Merrick killed himself because there was this... There was a vampire, who wanted to hurt me. Like, really hurt me. And he knew that the best way to hurt me was to go after those closest to me. I didn’t really have any friends any more, not since being called. So there was just Merrick, and...

Ripper knew he was going to regret asking his next question, but he had to ask it. “And?”

Buffy swallowed, studied her shoes. “My parents.”

“What happened to them?” Ripper asked cautiously.

“They’re gone.” 

There was a heavy silence then, Ripper standing awkwardly in the middle of the room not really knowing what to do. Then Buffy let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob, and before he’d processed it, he was beside her pulling her in for a hug.

“I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed, leaning into Ripper’s embrace.

“Neither do I,” Ripper admitted. 

Buffy sniffed. “I want to get away from LA. I don’t want to be here. And there must be other places that need a Slayer, right? Merrick used to talk about these Hellmouths. Maybe we could track them down?”

“We?” Ripper echoed, a little confused.

Buffy blushed and pulled out of the embrace. “Yeah. I mean, if you wanted to come with.” 

“I’ve never trained for this, I’m not a Watcher,” Ripper cautioned warily. “It’s the reason I’m here in the first bloody place- I never wanted to be a Watcher!”

Buffy shrugged. “Then don’t be. We’ll come up with something else for you to be. I don’t care. I still trust you. More than I trust someone Travers would send me, anyway.”

Ripper sighed. If it were to get back to Travers, or his parents, that he was aiding the Slayer, he’d be in a lot of trouble. But he could also see that Buffy didn’t need a Watcher to order her around and make demands of her; she needed a friend, possibly even an older brother figure. She needed someone who could help her out but also treat her like an equal. No Watcher would ever do that.

“I’ve got some money,” he said at last, “but it’s not going to last long. I can’t access my bank accounts without alerting Travers or my parents to where I am. The last thing I want is to let the bloody Council know what we’re up to.”

“It’s fine,” Buffy shrugged, “I’ve got a bit saved up from working at the diner. How near to the closest Hellmouth do you think we’ll get before we run out of cash?”

Ripper tilted his head to one side. “Depends where the nearest Hellmouth is,” he pointed out with a smirk. “Though I heard there was one here in California.”

Buffy grinned. “Then what are we waiting for?”


End file.
